Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower

He pointed at the POLICE sweatshirt. ‘Where did you get this?’

The girl glared at him. He dug out his badge and watched the defiance vanish.

She pointed back in the direction they’d come. ‘I swapped it with some girl.’

Sulley followed her outstretched arm. Saw nothing but a mass of strangers. ‘How long ago?’

She shrugged. ‘Couple of minutes.’

‘What did you swap it for?’

‘Just another sweatshirt.’

‘Could you describe it?’

The girl raised her palms. ‘White. Kind of … washed out. Bit worn at the sleeves.’

In the midday warmth most of those filling the street had now dispensed with their coats and jackets; more than half were wearing something white. With his back still turned to the van, Sulley allowed himself a smile.

Nice work, missy, he thought to himself. Nice work indeed.

81

Liv walked out of the tourist information office and headed against the flow of people, which bothered her slightly, back in the direction of the police building, which bothered her more.

She checked the free map she’d been given, tracing different routes to the street circled in black felt pen. She could have chosen a more circuitous route, but it would take longer and she was already on borrowed time. She’d just have to risk it. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. The battery icon was empty. She pressed the speed-dial key anyway, praying there’d still be enough power to make one call.

‘It wasn’t her,’ Kutlar said, before the policeman had a chance to speak. He wanted to remind Cornelius of his usefulness.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ the officer said, leaning in through the open window. ‘She switched to a plain white top. The girl she swapped with couldn’t say which direction she was headed.’

Cornelius started up the engine. ‘Get in,’ he said.

The policeman shuffled uncertainly, pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘You know I should probably –’

‘Get in,’ Cornelius repeated.

He got in.

Kutlar glanced at the screen and started to relax a little. Knowing what the girl looked like was the only thing keeping him alive right now. Having the policeman tag along made him nervous because he knew what she looked like too. The sooner he split the better.

The van moved off, jarring Kutlar’s leg again on the uneven road.

He hit return and the hourglass icon appeared as the system reached out for the girl’s signal.

82

The ringing tone kicked in as Liv passed a street stall selling freshly made flat breads. The thick, hot smell of roasted spices and onions reminded her how long it had been since she’d had anything substantial to eat. The sun beat down on the bone-coloured flagstones and buildings that all looked like churches.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ the familiar voice yelled. Rawls Baker, owner and editor of the New Jersey Inquirer, was not one of life’s whisperers. ‘You’d better be calling to file copy on that birth story; I got a hole in the lifestyle section you could drive a truck through.’

‘Listen Rawls, I –’

‘Don’t give me excuses. Just give me that story.’

‘Rawls, I haven’t written it.’

There was a moment’s pause. ‘Well, you’d better start writing it right this –’

‘What’s the story on the front page of the Inquirer this morning?’ she asked, before he could launch into a full-blown roasting.

‘What the hell’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Just answer the question.’

‘The monk. Same as every other paper.’

‘He was my brother.’

The phone went silent.

‘You’re shitting me!’

‘I’m in Ruin now; I flew in this morning. There’s something strange going on here. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something big. I’m in the middle of it and I need your help.’

The silence flooded back. She could picture him in his office, staring out at the river, calculating how much an exclusive might be worth. Her phone beeped loudly in her ear and for a moment she thought she’d been disconnected. Then Rawls’s voice rumbled back through the ether. ‘What do you need?’

‘I’m heading towards the offices of a local newspaper called Itaat Eden Kimse. I want you to call ahead and get them to kit me out with some petty cash, a notebook and some pens. Maybe the loan of a desk for a few hours.’

‘No problem.’ She heard the scratch of Rawls’s pen. ‘Just don’t go sharing anything valuable with them. Remember who’s signing your paycheque. Tell them you’re writing a travel piece or something.’

‘OK,’ she said. The low-battery signal beeped in her ear again. ‘My cell’s about to die. Can you see if they can hook me up with a charger as well?’ She gave him the make and model, but there was only silence at his end of the line.

The screen was blank. She slipped it back into her pocket. Looked back up the road. Saw a vehicle approaching.

83

‘Over there …’ Kutlar pointed at a group of people eating stuffed flatbreads from a food stall but kept his eyes on the screen. Cornelius turned towards them. Sulley’s door was open almost before they came to a stop. ‘I’ll look around,’ he said, and slammed it back shut with a pungent cloud of spices and onions. Kutlar glanced up from the screen. He watched the policeman hitching up his trousers and scanning the crowd.

‘You see her?’ Cornelius said.

Kutlar scrutinized the mass of faces on both sides of the street. ‘No,’ he said finally. The smell of the food made him feel nauseous.

Cornelius took the notebook from him. The street map was frozen, the arrow at the centre pointing at the place they were now parked. The side column showed the last number she had called and an hourglass icon spun slowly next to it as the system searched through the networks, hunting it down.

Kutlar glanced in the side mirror. The policeman was now talking to the stallholder and helping himself to some food. His stomach lurched and he looked away. Thanks to the brutal one-way system it had taken them nearly five minutes to get here. He could have done it in half the time, but the sat-nav had sent them along busy main roads and he’d had no desire to challenge it. The longer they kept looking for her, the more chance he’d have of working his way out of this situation.

He also had another agenda, not quite as strong as his instinct for survival, but strong nonetheless. It involved the man who had put the bullet in his leg and forced him to leave his cousin lying dead in the road. He’d never been particularly close to Serko, but he was family. He figured if these guys found the girl then maybe they’d find the guy who killed him as well. He really hoped he’d try and get in their way.